But we do not steal the niggers' meal, for that is a nigger's sin. Must he have his Law as a quid to chaw, or laid in brass on his wheel? Does he steal with tears when he buccaneers? 'Fore Gad, then, why does he steal?' The skipper bit on a deep-sea word, and the word it was not sweet, For he could see the Captains Three had signalled to the Fleet. But three and two, in white and blue, the whimpering flags began: 'We have heard a tale of a-foreign sail, but he is a merchantman.' The skipper peered beneath his palm and swore by the Great Horn Spoon: "Fore Gad, the Chaplain of the Fleet would bless my picaroon!' By two and three the flags blew free to lash the laughing air: 'We have sold our spars to the merchantman-we know that his price is fair.' The skipper winked his Western eye, and swore by a China storm: 'They ha' rigged him a Joseph's jury-coat to keep his honour warm.' The halliards twanged against the tops, the bunting bellied broad, The skipper spat in the empty hold and mourned for a wasted cord. Masthead-masthead, the signal sped by the line o' the British craft: THE RHYME OF THE THREE CAPTAINS The skipper called to his Lascar crew, and put her about and laughed: 'It's mainsail haul, my bully boys all-we'll out to the seas again Ere they set us to paint their pirate saint, or scrub at his grapnel-chain. It's fore-sheet free, with her head to the sea, and the swing of the unbought brine We'll make no sport in an English court till we come as a ship o' the Line: Till we come as a ship o' the Line, my lads, of thirty foot in the sheer, Lifting again from the outer main with news of a priva teer; Flying his pluck at our mizzen-truck for weft of Admiralty, Heaving his head for our dipsy-lead in sign that we keep the sea. Then fore-sheet home as she lifts to the foam-we stand on the outward tack, We are paid in the coin of the white man's trade-the bezant is hard, ay, and black. The frigate-bird shall carry my word to the Kling and the Orang-Laut How a man may sail from a heathen coast to be robbed in a Christian port; How a man may be robbed in Christian port while Three Great Captains there Shall dip their flag to a slaver's rag-to show that his trade is fair!' THE BALLAD OF THE 'CLAMPHERDOWN' I (1891) T was our war-ship 'Clampherdown' Would sweep the Channel clean. Wherefore she kept her hatches close When the merry Channel chops arose, To save the bleached marine. She had one bow-gun of a hundred ton, They dipped their noses deep in the sea, It was our war-ship 'Clampherdown' That carried the dainty Hotchkiss gun She opened fire at seven miles- THE BALLAD OF THE 'CLAMPHERDOWN' 'Captain, the bow-gun melts apace, The deck-beams break below, She opened fire within the mile— As ye shoot at the flying duck- 'Captain, the turret fills with steam, You can hear the hiss of the helpless ram, It was our war-ship 'Clampherdown,' Swung round to take the cruiser's fire 'Captain, the shells are falling fast, And it is not meet for English stock 'Lie down, lie down, my bold A. B.,` We drift upon her beam; We dare not ram, for she can run; And die in the peeling steam?' It was our war-ship 'Clampherdown' But fifty feet at stern and bow Lay bare as the paunch of the purser's sow, 'Captain, they hack us through and through; It was our war-ship 'Clampherdown,' Her two dumb guns glared south and north, 'Captain, they cry, the fight is done, They bid you send your sword.' And he answered, 'Grapple her stern and bow. They have asked for the steel. They shall have it now; Out cutlasses and board!' It was our war-ship 'Clampherdown,' And the scalded stokers yelped delight, As they rolled in the waist and heard the fight, Stamp o'er their steel-walled pen. |